Blind Spot (26 page)

Alexa pulled the door open and looked at her warily.

“We need to talk.” Suki nodded at Kendra, who was sprawled out on the carpet.

“But, Mom—” Alexa started arguing, as if by reflex, then stopped.

Kendra was already on her feet. “I’ve got to get home anyway,” she said. “I promised my mom I’d get a few things at the Stop and Shop.” She gave Alexa a quick hug and whispered, “Call me later.” Then she slid out the door, obviously glad to be going.

Suki came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t bother to close the door. Kyle was at a soccer game. They were alone.

Alexa pulled herself to her full five feet. “Am I going to be arrested?”

“No,” Suki said, and Alexa visibly relaxed. “But it’s not good.”

Alexa gripped her hands together; her knuckles were white. “Tell me.”

“Charlie Gasperini was killed this morning.”

Alexa’s jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide.

For a moment, Suki was reminded of Edvard Munch’s painting
The Scream
. “It was a boating accident,” she continued, as if Alexa had asked, as if this conversation was about an accident that had happened to a casual acquaintance—not an accident loaded down with the baggage of arrest and murder and Alexa’s dream. “Not far from the boathouse.”

Alexa slid down the wall, melting into a heap of gray sweatshirt. She stared up at Suki. “I killed him,” she whispered.

Suki knelt down. “What are you saying?”

“I killed him,” Alexa repeated stiffly, as if a puppeteer was moving her vocal cords, pushing the air through her lungs. “I killed him just like I killed Jonah.”

Suki was aware of the carpet nubs beneath her hands, Alexa’s clock ticking on the bureau, the sweet-smelling breeze wafting through the window, the hollow pinging sound of someone down the street bouncing a basketball.

Alexa’s teeth began to chatter. “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “I see it and they die.” Her voice grew louder, more high pitched. “They die because I see it!”

Suki closed the window and ripped the spread off Alexa’s bed, trying to figure out the best thing to say. If she acknowledged Alexa’s dream was related to Charlie’s death, would she be encouraging Alexa’s delusions, perhaps even causing more dreams and visions? And if she denied any connection, would she lose credibility in Alexa’s eyes? “Don’t say such things,” she said as she wrapped Alexa in the black quilt. “Don’t think them. Don’t say them. Don’t say them to me. Don’t say them to anyone.”

“But it’s the truth! I see them die in my mind and then it happens. I make it come true. I do. Even though I don’t want to. Even though I don’t want to, I do!” Alexa was becoming hysterical. “I want to and I don’t, I want to and I don’t. I don’t I don’t I don’t …”

Suki pulled Alexa into a prone position on the floor and then stretched out alongside her. She put her arms around her daughter, tucking Alexa’s head under her chin, making sure her legs were making contact with Alexa’s, her feet with Alexa’s feet. “Hush, baby,” Suki murmured as she nested the small quivering body within her own. “Hush.”

Suki had learned this from her father when she was a child. He had explained that when a person begins to lose mental touch with reality, it’s important to put them into physical touch. To help them reconnect. He had done the same with her mother. Rocking her, consoling her, hoping the feel of his body would bring his wife back to him.

“Hush, baby,” Suki whispered. “Hush.”

Frank Maxwell, who headed up the small detective bureau of the Witton Police, was named acting chief. He was an up-through-the-ranks kind of guy: basic, straightforward, reticent. He was close, if not at, retirement age, had neither political connections nor aspirations—and he wasn’t a friend of Ellery McKinna’s. Mike arranged a meeting with him first thing Monday morning.

“Chief Maxwell,” Mike began, “I know how busy and overwhelmed you must be, and I want you to know that we really appreciate you taking the time to talk with us.” He was speaking in smooth, complete sentences. A mode of speech he used in a courtroom, not a police station. This was obviously a planned performance.

“Yup,” Frank said.

“I think your daughter Rorie went to school with my husband, Stan. Stan Jacobs?” Although she had promised Mike she would let him do the talking, Suki found herself blabbering. “Graduated from Witton High in sixty-eight?”

“Rorie graduated in sixty-eight,” Frank said.

“Same year as Stan.”

Mike gave Suki a reassuring wink and then turned to Frank. “Can I be candid here?” he asked.

Frank looked at Mike from under his bushy white eyebrows. He didn’t say anything.

“I’m sure you’re quite familiar with the Ward case …” Mike paused for a moment and, when he didn’t get a response, continued, “And I’m sure you know that Chief Gasperini had a prime suspect …”

Again, no response, neither verbal nor facial from the policeman.

“… a prime suspect he was pursuing despite the large body of evidence supporting her innocence.”

Frank appeared unimpressed with Mike’s candor.

“Are you aware of the evidence?” Mike asked.

“Yup,” Frank said.

Suki couldn’t stand it any longer. “Frank,” she said, leaning forward. She didn’t know him all that well, but his grandson had been on the swim team with Kyle, and she had stood with Rorie and Frank in many overheated, chlorine-scented pool enclosures, cheering the boys on. “Alexa didn’t kill Jonah.”

“Chief,” Mike interjected smoothly, “it’s a fact that Devin McKinna, Brendan Ricker and Sam Cooperstein initially lied about their whereabouts on the night of Jonah Ward’s murder. There is no reason to assume that the new story they concocted, the one in which they profess that Alexa shot Jonah, holds any more truth than their first pack of lies.”

“Yup,” Frank said again.

“So you see the problem?” Suki was filled with hope, although she was well aware a “yup” from Frank didn’t necessarily mean he agreed with the statement preceding it. “And you think you might look into the whole thing a bit more? Or differently? Now that Charlie’s, ah, well, you know, now, that … that things are different.” She bit down on her lip to keep herself from saying anything else.

Frank looked impassively at Suki, and she felt chastised. She slumped back into her chair.

“Having lied once, it’s highly likely the boys will lie again.” Mike’s voice was assured, confident, as if no one in his right mind could possibly disagree with him. “It’s obvious all three have something to hide.”

“Haven’t found the gun yet,” Frank said.

“Alexa doesn’t even know how to shoot a gun,” Suki cried. “She never fired one in her life. So does it make any sense that the first time she does—without any training, mind you—she manages to shoot so well that she kills her target? Isn’t that a bit hard to believe?” Suki felt Mike’s hand on her arm, but she didn’t want to stop. “And where would Alexa get a gun, anyway? How could she possibly fire it and drive at the same time? She was on the other side of the car, for God’s sake. They found the powder burns on the passenger side. And Alexa was driving! She was driving!” Suki slapped her hand on the arm of her chair.

Suddenly, the room was thick with silence. The men glanced at each other, and when they turned back to Suki, they both looked at her with sympathy. She put her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “Alexa was driving,” she repeated more softly. “You can’t drive and shoot from the passenger seat at the same time.” She tried to smile. “It’s a physical impossibility.”

“Could have slid over,” Frank said. “Car was stopped.”

“And then there’s the motive problem,” Mike said quickly. “Alexa had no reason to kill Jonah Ward.” He threw his hands in the air. “No motive and no opportunity. Doesn’t sound like a very good suspect to me.”

“To me either,” Suki said before Frank could bring up the two girls who had heard Alexa say she wished Jonah was dead. She wondered if Charlie had discovered anything at his visit to the high school, if Frank knew more than they thought he did. “Seems like there are lots of better suspects around,” she added.

“Quite a few strong suspects, in fact.” Mike nodded sagely. “Much stronger than my client. Boys with knowledge of, and access to, guns. Boys who have admitted to being at the scene of the crime. Boys who have lied, who have motive. It appears there are many places to look for Jonah Ward’s murderer. Don’t you think, Chief?”

“Yup.”

“So you’ll try to find out who really killed Jonah?” Suki asked.

“Case is on hold,” Frank said.

Suki and Mike exchanged glances.

“Got another case taking up my manpower.”

“On hold?” Suki asked, unable to believe their good fortune. “What other case?”

“Seems there’s evidence someone may have been tampering with the gas tank on Charlie’s boat.”

“You think someone killed Charlie Gasperini?” Mike asked. “Killed him because he was chief?”

“Don’t know much for sure yet,” Frank told them.

“Wow,” Mike said.

Suki didn’t say anything. She could only think of Alexa, returning home Saturday morning from an odd, early walk, leaves and branches caught in her clothes and hair.

As they walked to the parking lot after their meeting with Frank Maxwell, Suki didn’t mention Alexa’s dream about Charlie’s death or her absence the morning of the accident. It was obvious Mike was wondering why Suki wasn’t happier, why she wasn’t more relieved, so she tried to pretend she was delighted with the results of their conversation, but her words sounded flat to her own ears, and she knew her smile was thin.

Mike was exuberant. “Maxwell’s going to be the best thing. Best thing ever happened,” he declared as they walked to the parking lot behind the station. “See him listening? Hear what he said? He thinks Charlie was going about it all wrong. I can tell. Even with all that silent brotherhood crap. He may not be saying anything now, but later on, when he’s in the driver’s seat, old Frank’s not going to be doing things Charlie Gasperini’s way.”

“Yeah,” Suki said, trying to follow his words, to respond appropriately. “I think you’re right. Sure, you’re right.” But she kept hearing Alexa’s voice: “
I make it come true.… Even though I don’t want to, I do.…
”

Mike leaned against the front of her car. “Get any of those test results on the Kern eval?”

“Not yet.” Suki fished in her purse for her car keys. “But the rest’s coming along. I’ve got almost all I need, and, with a bit of luck, I might only have to go out to Watkins one more time.”

“Getting around to forming an opinion?”

Suki busied herself unlocking the door. Usually at this point in an evaluation she would have no doubts as to her final assessment. But this case was tough, tricky and heavily loaded.

“Suki?” Mike was asking. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, straining to smile. “It’s just that this has all been a bit much. I haven’t been sleeping too well.”

“Sure,” Mike said. “Understood. Be fine if you get that final report to me the day before you’re scheduled to testify.”

Suki was surprised. Evals were usually due at least a week before testimony; the report had to be shared with the other side—as a part of the discovery process—and few attorneys allowed their experts to take the stand without an hour or two of pretrial preparation.

“Not a problem,” Mike said, in answer to the question she didn’t ask. “I’ll handle the DA, and I know you can handle the testimony. Your slot looks to be sometime early next week. That workable?”

Suki nodded and dropped into the driver’s seat. This was really decent of him, but unfortunately, she needed the money—yesterday. “Let me see if I can wrap it up sooner. I should be able to get you the versions of the alleged crime in a day or two.”

Mike pushed off and headed for his silver BMW. “If you think you’re coming down on the side of sanity,” he called over his shoulder, “make sure you let me know ASAP.”

Suki gave him a mock salute. How long would it take to sort it all out? Sanity. Insanity. Truth. Lies. Guilt. Innocence. And she wasn’t thinking about Lindsey.

The previous night, when Suki had told Alexa she wanted her to stay home from school for a few days, for once, Alexa didn’t argue. She had just nodded—or more precisely, barely nodded, lowering and raising her chin with such a small movement that Suki wouldn’t have caught it had she not been watching closely—and continued to lie on her bed, staring silently at the ceiling.

Alexa was completely devastated by the accident, neither sleeping nor eating nor showering nor speaking to anyone since hearing the news. She hadn’t even stirred when her grandfather came to visit, sitting on the edge of bed, full of bad jokes and unconditional love. If Seymour couldn’t reach Alexa, than no one could. Where was Alexa? Suki wondered as she drove home from the police station. And who was she? Was Alexa the girl Suki thought she knew, or was that girl just the daughter Suki wanted her to be?

Suki pulled into the carport and stared at the flakes of paint peeling off the side of the house. Stain wasn’t supposed to peel, but the stain on this house did. It was Stan’s guess that someone had put a coat of latex on it years ago, and then tried to cover the deed with stain. He said it would never be right until all the paint was scraped off. Fat chance that was ever going to happen. Suki still owed the plumber for the broken toilet three months back.

The thought of her debts caused her to think of Lindsey, who had permanently slid from Suki’s professional life into her personal when she insinuated herself into Alexa’s dreams. Was it their common paranormal interests that drew Alexa to Lindsey—or something else? Suki climbed out of the car and slammed the door.

But as soon as she got into the house, Suki forgot her questions. Alexa was huddled in the corner of the family room, still wearing the same gray sweatshirt she had had on Saturday. She was curled into a fetal position. Rocking.

“Alexa?” Suki said, softly, kneeling by her daughter.

Alexa swatted her away.

“Let me make you a cup of tea,” Suki offered. “How about some nice wild berry zinger? I know how much you like it.” Suki stood and tugged gently on Alexa’s hands, but she refused to rise and pulled herself more tightly into her ball of pain. Suki squatted down again.